MARY SHELLEY

Transformation

I have heard it said, that, when any strange, supernatural, and necromantic adventure
has occurred to a human being, that being, however desirous he may be to conceal the
same, feels at certain periods torn up as it were by an intellectual earthquake, and is
forced to bare the inner depths of his spirit to another. I am a witness of the truth of this.
I have dearly sworn to myself never to reveal to human ears the horrors to which I once,
in excess of fiendly pride, delivered myself over. The holy man who heard my
confession, and reconciled me to the church, is dead. None knows that once--
Why should it not be thus? Why tell a tale of impious tempting of Providence, and soul-
subduing humiliation? Why? answer me, ye who are wise in the secrets of human
nature! I only know that so it is; and in spite of strong resolve--of a pride that too much
masters me--of shame, and even of fear, so to render myself odious to my species--I
must speak.
Genoa! my birth-place-proud city! looking upon the blue waves of the Mediterranean
sea--dost thou remember me in my boyhood, when thy cliffs and promontories, thy
bright sky and gay vineyards, were my world? Happy time! when to the young heart the
narrow-bounded universe, which leaves, by its very limitation, free scope to the
imagination, enchains our physical energies, and, sole period in our lives, innocence and
enjoyment are united. Yet, who can look back to childhood, and not remember its
sorrows and its harrowing fears? I was born with the most imperious, haughty, tameless
spirit, with which ever mortal was gifted. I quailed before my father only; and he,
generous and noble, but capricious and tyrannical, at once fostered and checked the wild
impetuosity of my character, making obedience necessary, but inspiring no respect for
the motives which guided his commands. To be a man, free, independent; or, in better
words, insolent and domineering, was the hope and prayer of my rebel heart.
My father had one friend, a wealthy Genoese noble, who in a political tumult was
suddenly sentenced to banishment, and his property confiscated. The Marchese Torella
went into exile alone. Like my father, he was a widower: he bad one child, the almost
infant Juliet, who was left under my father's guardianship. I should certainly have been
an unkind master to the lovely girl, but that I was forced by my position to become her
protector. A variety of childish incidents all tended to one point,--to make Juliet see in
me a rock of refuge; I in her, one, who must perish through the soft sensibility of her
nature too rudely visited, but for my guardian care. We grew up together. The opening
rose in May was not more sweet than this dear girl. An irradiation of beauty was spread
over her face. Her form, her step, her voice--my heart weeps even now, to think of all of
relying, gentle, loving, and pure, that was enshrined in that celestial tenement. When I
was eleven and Juliet eight years of age, a cousin of mine, much older than either--he
seemed to us a man--took great notice of my playmate; he called her his bride, and
asked her to marry him. She refused, and he insisted, drawing her unwillingly towards
him. With the countenance and emotions of a maniac I threw myself on him--I strove to
draw his sword--I clung to his neck with the ferocious resolve to strangle him: he was
obliged to call for assistance to disengage himself from me. On that night I led Juliet to
the chapel of our house: I made her touch the sacred relics--I harrowed her child's heart,
and profaned her child's lips with an oath, that she would be mine, and mine only.
Well, those days passed away. Torella returned in a few years, and became wealthier
and more prosperous than ever. When I was seventeen my father died; he had been
magnificent to prodigality; Torella rejoiced that my minority would afford an
opportunity for repairing my fortunes. Juliet and I had been affianced beside my father's
deathbed--Torella was to be a second parent to me.
I desired to see the world, and I was indulged. I went to Florence, to Rome, to Naples;
thence I passed to Toulon, and at length reached what had long been the bourne of my
wishes, Paris. There was wild work in Paris then. The poor king, Charles the Sixth, now
sane, now mad, now a monarch, now an abject slave, was the very mockery of
humanity. The queen, the dauphin, the Duke of Burgundy, alternately friends and foes
now meeting in prodigal feasts, now shedding blood in rivalry-were blind to the
miserable state of their country, and the dangers that impended over it, and gave
themselves wholly up to dissolute enjoyment or savage strife. My character still
followed me. I was arrogant and selfwilled; I loved display, and above all, I threw all
control far from me. Who could control me in Paris? My young friends were eager to
foster passions which furnished them with pleasures. I was deemed handsome--I was
master of every knightly accomplishment. I was disconnected with any political party. I
grew a favourite with all: my presumption and arrogance were pardoned in one so
young: I became a spoiled child. Who could control me? not the letters and advice of
Torella--only strong necessity visiting me in the abhorred shape of an empty purse. But
there were means to refill this void. Acre after acre, estate after estate, I sold. My dress,
my jewels, my horses and their caparisons, were almost unrivalled in gorgeous Paris,
while the lands of my inheritance passed into possession of others.
The Duke of Orleans was waylaid and murdered by the Duke of Burgundy. Fear and
terror possessed all Paris. The dauphin and the queen shut themselves up; every
pleasure was suspended. 1 grew weary of this state of things, and my heart yearned for
my boyhood's haunts. I was nearly a beggar, yet still I would go there, claim my bride,
and rebuild my fortunes. A few happy ventures as a merchant would make me rich
again. Nevertheless, I would not return in humble guise. My last act was to dispose of
my remaining estate near Albaro for half its worth, for ready money. Then I despatched
all kinds of artificers, arras, furniture of regal splendour, to fit up the last relic of my
inheritance, my palace in Genoa. I lingered a little longer yet, ashamed at the part of the
prodigal returned, which I feared I should play. I sent my horses. One matchless
Spanish jennet I despatched to my promised bride; its caparisons flamed with jewels
and cloth of gold. In every part I caused to be entwined the initials of Juliet and her
Guido. My present found favour in hers and in her father's eyes.
Still to return a proclaimed spendthrift, the mark of impertinent wonder, perhaps of
scorn, and to encounter singly the reproaches or taunts of my fellow-citizens, was no
alluring prospect. As a shield between me and censure, I invited some few of the most
reckless of my comrades to accompany me: thus I went armed against the world, hiding
a rankling feeling, half fear and half penitence, by bravado and an insolent display of
satisfied vanity.
I arrived in Genoa. I trod the pavement of my ancestral palace. My proud step was no
interpreter of my heart, for I deeply felt that, though surrounded by every luxury, I was
a beggar. The first step I took in claiming Juliet must widely declare me such. I read
contempt or pity in the looks of all. I fancied, so apt is conscience to imagine what it
deserves, that rich and poor, young and old, all regarded me with derision. Torella came
not near me. No wonder that my second father should expect a son's deference from me
in waiting first on him. But, galled and stung by a sense of my follies and demerit, I
strove to throw the blame on others. We kept nightly orgies in Palazzo Carega. To
sleepless, riotous nights, followed listless, supine mornings. At the Ave Maria we
showed our dainty persons in the streets, scoffing at the sober citizens, casting insolent
glances on the shrinking women. Juliet was not among them--no, no; if she had been
there, shame would have driven me away, if love had not brought me to her feet.
I grew tired of this. Suddenly I paid the Marchese a visit. He was at his villa, one among
the many which deck the suburb of San Pietro d'Arena. It was the month of May--a
month of May in that garden of the world the blossoms of the fruit trees were fading
among thick, green foliage; the vines were shooting forth; the ground strewed with the
fallen olive blooms; the fire-fly was in the myrtle hedge; heaven and earth wore a
mantle of surpassing beauty. Torella welcomed me kindly, though seriously; and even
his shade of displeasure soon wore away. Some resemblance to my father-some look
and tone of youthful ingenuousness, lurking still in spite of my misdeeds, softened the
good old man's heart. He sent *for his daughter-he presented me to her as her betrothed.
The chamber became hallowed by a holy light as she entered. Hers was that cherub
look, those large, soft eyes, full dimpled cheeks, and mouth of infantine sweetness, that
expresses the rare union of happiness and love. Admiration first possessed me; she is
mine! was the second proud emotion, and my lips curled with haughty triumph. I had
not been the enfant gate (Literally "spoiled child," but here "pampered darling.") of the
beauties of France not to have learnt the art of pleasing the soft heart of woman. If
towards men I was overbearing, the deference I paid to them was the more in contrast. I
commenced my courtship by the display of a thousand gallantries to Juliet, who, vowed
to me from infancy, had never admitted the devotion of others; and who, though
accustomed to expressions of admiration, was uninitiated in the language of lovers.
For a few days all went well. Torella never alluded to my extravagance; he treated me
as a favourite son. But the time came, as we discussed the preliminaries to my union
with his daughter, when this fair face of things should be overcast. A contract had been
drawn up in my father's lifetime. I had rendered this, in fact, void, by having squandered
the whole of the wealth which was to have been shared by Juliet and myself. Torella, in
consequence, chose to consider this bond as cancelled, and proposed another, in which,
though the wealth he bestowed was immeasurably increased, there were so many
restrictions as to the mode of spending it, that I, who saw independence only in free
career being given to my own imperious will, taunted him as taking advantage of my
situation, and refused utterly to subscribe to his conditions. The old man mildly strove
to recall me to reason. Roused pride became the tyrant of my thought: I listened with
indignaton--I repelled him with disdain.
"Juliet, thou art mine! Did we not interchange vows in our innocent childhood? are we
not one in the sight of God? and shall thy cold-hearted, cold-blooded father divide us?
Be generous, my love, be just; take not away a gift, last treasure of thy Guido--retract
not thy vows--let us defy the world, and setting at nought the calculations of age, find in
our mutual affection a refuge from every ill."
Fiend I must have been, with such sophistry to endeavour to poison that sanctuary of
holy thought and tender love. Juliet shrank from me affrighted. Her father was the best
and kindest of men, and she strove to show me how, in obeying him, every good would
follow. He would receive my tardy submission with warm affection; and generous
pardon would follow my repentance. Profitless words for a young and gentle daughter
to use to a man accustomed to make his will, law; and to feel in his own heart a despot
so terrible and stern, that he could yield obedience to nought save his own imperious
desires! My resentment grew with resistance; my wild companions were ready to add
fuel to the flame. We laid a plan to carry off Juliet. At first it appeared to be crowned
with success. Midway, on our return, we were overtaken by the agonized father and his
attendants. A conflict ensued. Before the city guard came to decide the victory in favour
of our antagonists, two of Torella's servitors were dangerously wounded.
This portion of my history weighs most heavily with me. Changed man as I am, I abhor
myself in the recollection. May none who hear this tale ever have felt as I. A horse
driven to fury by a rider armed with barbed spurs, was not more a slave than I, to the
violent tyranny of my temper. A fiend possessed my soul, irritating it to madness. I felt
the voice of conscience within me; but if I yielded to it for a brief interval, it was only to
be a moment after torn, as by a whirlwind, away--borne along on the stream of
desperate rage--the plaything of the storms engendered by pride. I was imprisoned, and,
at the instance of Torella, set free. Again I returned to carry off both him and his child to
France; which hapless country, then preyed on by freebooters and gangs of lawless
soldiery, offered a grateful refuge to a criminal like me. Our plots were discovered. I
was sentenced to banishment; and, as my debts were already enormous, my remaining
property was put in the hands of commissioners for their payment. Torella again offered
his mediation, requiring only my promise not to renew my abortive attempts on himself
and his daughter. I spurned his offers, and fancied that I triumphed when I was thrust
out from Genoa, a solitary and penniless exile. My companions were gone: they had
been dismissed the city some weeks before, and were already in France. I was alone--
friendless; with nor sword at my side, nor ducat in my purse.
I wandered along the sea-shore, a whirlwind of passion possessing and tearing my soul.
It was as if a live coal had been set burning in my breast. At first I meditated on what I
should do. I would join a band of freebooters. Revenge!--the word seemed balm to me:-
-I hugged it--caressed it--till, like a serpent, it stung me. Then again I would abjure and
despise Genoa, that little corner of the world. I would return to Paris, where so many of
my friends swarmed; where my services would be eagerly accepted; where I would
carve out fortune with my sword, and might, through success, make my paltry birth-
place, and the false Torella, rue the day when they drove me, a new Coriolanus, from
her walls. I would return to Paris-thus, on foot--a beggar--and present myself in my
poverty to those I had formerly entertained sumptuously? There was gall in the mere
thought of it.
The reality of things began to dawn upon my mind, bringing despair in its train. For
several months I had been a prisoner: the evils of my dungeon had whipped my soul to
madness, but they had subdued my corporeal frame. I was weak and wan. Torella. had
used a thousand artifices to administer to my comfort; I had detected and scorned them
all-and I reaped the harvest of my obduracy. What was to be done? Should I crouch
before my foe, and sue for forgiveness?--Die rather ten thousand deaths!--Never should
they obtain that victory! Hate--I swore eternal hate! Hate from whom?--to whom?--
From a wandering outcast to a mighty noble. I and my feelings were nothing to them:
already had they forgotten one so unworthy. And Juliet!--her angel-face and sylphlike
form gleamed among the clouds of my despair with vain beauty; for I had lost her--the
glory and flower of the world! Another will call her his!--that smile of paradise will
bless another!
Even now my heart fails within me when I recur to this rout of grim-visaged ideas. Now
subdued almost to tears, now raving in my agony, still I wandered along the rocky
shore, which grew at each step wilder and more desolate. Hanging rocks and hoar
precipices overlooked the tideless ocean; black caverns yawned; and for ever, among
the seaworn recesses, murmured and dashed the unfruitful waters. Now my way was
almost barred by an abrupt promontory, now rendered nearly impracticable by
fragments fallen from the cliff. Evening was at hand, when, seaward, arose, as if on the
waving of a wizard's wand, a murky web of clouds, blotting the late azure sky, and
darkening and disturbing the till now placid deep. The clouds had strange fantastic
shapes; and they changed, and mingled, and seemed to be driven about by a mighty
spell. The waves raised their white crests; the thunder first muttered, then roared from
across the waste of waters, which took a deep purple dye, flecked with foam. The spot
where I stood, looked, on one side, to the wide-spread ocean; on the other, it was barred
by a rugged promontory. Round this cape suddenly came, driven by the wind, a vessel.
In vain the mariners tried to force a path for her to the open sea--the gale drove her on
the rocks. It will perish!--all on board will perish!--Would I were among them! And to
my young heart the idea of death came for the first time blended with that of joy. It was
an awful sight to behold that vessel struggling with her fate. Hardly could I discern the
sailors, but I heard them. It was soon all over!--A rock, just covered by the tossing
waves, and so unperceived, lay in wait for its prey. A crash of thunder broke over my
head at the moment that, with a frightful shock, the skiff dashed upon her unseen
enemy. In a brief space of time she went to pieces. There I stood in safety; and there
were my fellow-creatures, battling, how hopelessly, with annihilation. Methought I saw
them struggling--too truly did I hear their shrieks, conquering the barking surges in their
shrill agony. The dark breakers threw hither and thither the fragments of the wreck:
soon it disappeared. I had been fascinated to gaze till the end: at last 1 sank on my
knees--I covered my face with my hands: I again looked up; something was floating on
the billows towards the shore. It neared and neared. Was that a human form?--It grew
more distinct; and at last a mighty wave, lifting the whole freight, lodged it upon a rock.
A human being bestriding a sea-chest!--A human being!--Yet was it one? Surely never
such had existed before-a misshapen dwarf, with squinting eyes, distorted features, and
body deformed, till it became a horror to behold. My blood, lately warming towards a
fellow-being so snatched from a watery tomb, froze in my heart. The dwarf got off his
chest; he tossed his straight, straggling hair from his odious visage:
"By St. Beelzebub!" he exclaimed, "I have been well bested." He looked round and saw
me. "Oh, by the fiend! here is another ally of the mighty one. To what saint did you
offer prayers, friend--if not to mine? Yet I remember you not on board."
I shrank from the monster and his blasphemy. Again he questioned me, and I muttered
some inaudible reply. He continued:--
"Your voice is drowned by this dissonant roar. What a noise the big ocean makes!
Schoolboys bursting from their prison are not louder than these waves set free to play.
They disturb me. I will no more of their illtimed brawling.--Silence, hoary One!--
Winds, avaunt!--to your homes! Clouds, fly to the antipodes, and leave our heaven
clear!"
As he spoke, he stretched out his two long lank arms, that looked like spider's claws,
and seemed to embrace with them the expanse before him. Was it a miracle? The clouds
became broken, and fled; the azure sky first peeped out, and then was spread a calm
field of blue above us; the stormy gale was exchanged to the softly breathing west; the
sea grew calm; the waves dwindled to riplets.
"I like obedience even in these stupid elements," said the dwarf. "How much more in
the tameless mind of man! It was a well got up storm, you must allow--and all of my
own making."
It was tempting Providence to interchange talk with this magician. But Power, in all its
shapes, is venerable to man. Awe, curiosity, a clinging fascination, drew me towards
him.
"Come, don't be frightened, friend," said the wretch: "I am good humoured when
pleased; and something does please me in your well proportioned body and handsome
face, though you look a little woebegone. You have suffered a land-1, a sea wreck.
Perhaps I can allay the tempest of your fortunes as I did my own. Shall we be friends?"-
-And he held out his hand; I could not touch it. "Well, then, companions--that will do as
well. And now, while I rest after the buffeting I underwent just now, tell me why, young
and gallant as you seem, you wander thus alone and downcast on this wild sea-shore."
The voice of the wretch was screeching and horrid, and his contortions as he spoke were
frightful to behold. Yet he did gain a kind of influence over me, which I could not
master, and I told him my tale. When it was ended, he laughed long and loud: the rocks
echoed back the sound: hell seemed yelling around me.
"Oh, thou cousin of Lucifer!" said he; "so thou too hast fallen through thy pride; and,
though bright as the son of Morning, thou art ready to give up thy good looks, thy bride,
and thy well-being, rather than submit thee to the tyranny of good. I honour thy choice,
by my soul!--So thou hast fled, and yield the day; and mean to starve on these rocks,
and to let the birds peck out thy dead eyes, while thy enemy and thy betrothed rejoice in
thy ruin. Thy pride is strangely akin to humility, methinks."
As he spoke, a thousand fanged thoughts stung me to the heart.
"What would you that I should do?" I cried.
"I!--Oh, nothing, but lie down and say your prayers before you die. But, were I you, I
know the deed that should be done."
I drew near him. His supernatural powers made him an oracle in my eyes; yet a strange
unearthly thrill quivered through my frame as I said, "Speak!--teach me--what act do
you advise?"
"Revenge thyself, man!--humble thy enemies!--set thy foot on the old man's neck, and
possess thyself of his daughter!"
"To the east and west I turn," cried I, "and see no means! Had I gold, much could I
achieve; but, poor and single, I am powerless."
The dwarf had been seated on his chest as he listened to my story. Now he got off; he
touched a spring; it flew open!--What a mine of wealth--of blazing jewels, beaming
gold, and pale silver-was displayed therein. A mad desire to possess this treasure was
born within me.
"Doubtless," I said, "one so powerful as you could do all things."
"Nay," said the monster, humbly, "I am less omnipotent than I seem. Some things I
possess which you may covet; but I would give them all for a small share, or even for a
loan of what is yours."
"My possessions are at your service," I replied, bitterly--"my poverty, my exile, my
disgrace--I make a free gift of them all."
"Good! I thank you. Add one other thing to your gift, and my treasure is yours."
"As nothing is my sole inheritance, what besides nothing would you have?"
"Your comely face and well-made limbs."
I shivered. Would this all-powerful monster murder me? I had no dagger. I forgot to
pray--but I grew pale.
"I ask for a loan, not a gift," said the frightful thing: "lend me your body for three days--
you shall have mine to cage your soul the while, and, in payment, my chest. What say
you to the bargain?--Three short days."
We are told that it is dangerous to hold unlawful talk; and well do I prove the same.
Tamely written down, it may seem incredible that I should lend any ear to this
proposition; but, in spite of his unnatural ugliness, there was something fascinating in a
being whose voice could govern earth, air, and sea. I felt a keen desire to comply; for
with that chest I could command the world. My only hesitation resulted from a fear that
he would not be true to his bargain. Then, I thought, I shall soon die here on these
lonely sands, and the limbs he covets will be mine no more:--it is worth the chance.
And, besides, I knew that, by all the rules of art-magic, there were formula and oaths
which none of its practisers dared break. I hesitated to reply; and he went on, now
displaying his wealth, now speaking of the petty price he demanded, till it seemed
madness to refuse. Thus is it: place our bark in the current of the stream, and down, over
fall and cataract it is hurried; give up our conduct to the wild torrent of passion, and we
are away, we know not whither.
He swore many an oath, and I adjured him by many a sacred name; till I saw this
wonder of power, this ruler of the elements, shiver like an autumn leaf before my
words; and as if the spirit spake unwillingly and per force within him, at last, lie, with
broken voice, revealed the spell whereby he might be obliged, did he wish to play me
false, to render up the unlawful spoil. Our warm life-blood must mingle to make and to
mar the charm.
Enough of this unholy theme. I was persuaded--the thing was done. The morrow
dawned upon me as I lay upon the shingles, and I knew not my own shadow as it fell
from me. I felt myself changed to a shape of horror, and cursed my easy faith and blind
credulity. The chest was there--there the gold and precious stones for which I had sold
the frame of flesh which nature had given me. The sight a little stilled my emotions:
three days would soon be gone.
They did pass. The dwarf had supplied me with a plenteous store of food. At first I
could hardly walk, so strange and out of joint were all my limbs; and my voice--it was
that of the fiend. But I kept silent, and turned my face to the sun, that I might not see my
shadow, and counted the hours, and ruminated on my future conduct. To bring Torella
to my feet--to possess my Juliet in spite of him--all this my wealth could easily achieve.
During dark night 1 slept, and dreamt of the accomplishment of my desires. Two suns
had set-the third dawned. I was agitated, fearful. Oh expectation, what a frightful thing
art thou, when kindled more by fear than hope! How dost thou twist thyself round the
heart, torturing its pulsations! How dost thou dart unknown pangs all through our feeble
mechanism, now seeming to shiver us like broken glass, to nothingness now giving us a
fresh strength, which can do nothing, and so torments us by a sensation, such as the
strong man must feel who cannot break his fetters, though they bend in his grasp.
Slowly paced the bright, bright orb up the eastern sky; long it lingered in the zenith, and
still more slowly wandered down the west: it touched the horizon's verge--it was lost!
Its glories were on the summits of the cliff--they grew dun and gray. The evening star
shone bright. He will soon be here.
He came not!--By the living heavens, he came not!--and night dragged out its weary
length, and, in its decaying age, "day began to grizzle its dark hair;" and the sun rose
again on the most miserable wretch that ever upbraided its light. Three days thus I
passed. The jewels and the gold--oh, how I abhorred them!
Well, well--I will not blacken these pages with demoniac ravings. All too terrible were
the thoughts, the raging tumult of ideas that filled my soul. At the end of that time I
slept; I had not before since the third sunset; and I dreamt that I was at Juliet's feet, and
she smiled, and then she shrieked--for she saw my transformation--and again she
smiled, for still her beautiful lover knelt before her. But it was not I--it was he, the
fiend, arrayed in my limbs, speaking with my voice, winning her with my looks of love.
I strove to warn her, but my tongue refused its office; I strove to tear him from her, but I
was rooted to the ground--I awoke with the agony. There were the solitary hoar
precipices--there the plashing sea, the quiet strand, and the blue sky over all. What did it
mean? was my dream but a mirror of the truth? was he wooing and winning my
betrothed? I would on the instant back to Genoa--but I was banished. I laughed--the
dwarf's yell burst from my lips--I banished! 0, no! they had not exiled the foul limbs I
wore; 1 might with these enter, without fear of incurring the threatened penalty of death,
my own, my native city.
I began to walk towards Genoa. I was somewhat accustomed to my distorted limbs;
none were ever so ill adapted for a straight-forward movement; it was with infinite
difficulty that I proceeded. Then, too, I desired to avoid all the hamlets strewed here and
there on the sea-beach, for I was unwilling to make a display of my hideousness. I was
not quite sure that, if seen, the mere boys would not stone me to death as I passed, for a
monster: some ungentle salutations I did receive from the few peasants or fishermen I
chanced to meet. But it was dark night before I approached Genoa. The weather was so
balmy and sweet that it struck me that the Marchese and his daughter would very
probably have quitted the city for their country retreat. It was from Villa Torella that I
had attempted to carry off Juliet; I had spent many an hour reconnoitering the spot, and
knew each inch of ground in its vicinity. It was beautifully situated, embosomed in
trees, on the margin of a stream. As I drew near, it became evident that my conjecture
was right; nay, moreover, that the hours were being then devoted to feasting and
merriment. For the house was lighted up; strains of soft and gay music were wafted
towards me by the breeze. My heart sank within me. Such was the generous kindness of
Torella's heart that I felt sure that he would not have indulged in public manifestations
of rejoicing just after my unfortunate banishment, but for a cause I dared not dwell
upon.
The country people were all alive and flocking about; it became necessary that I should
study to conceal myself; and yet I longed to address some one, or to hear others
discourse, or in any way to gain intelligence of what was really going on. At length,
entering the walks that were in immediate vicinity to the mansion, I found one dark
enough to veil my excessive frightfulness; and yet others as well as I were loitering in
its shade. I soon gathered all I wanted to know--all that first made my very heart die
with horror, and then boil with indignation. To-morrow Juliet was to be given to the
penitent, reformed, beloved Guido--to-morrow my bride was to pledge her vows to a
fiend from hell! And I did this!--my accursed pride--my demoniac violence and wicked
self-idolatry had caused this act. For if I had acted as the wretch who had stolen my
form had acted-if, with a mien at once yielding and dignified, I had presented myself to
Torella, saying, I have done wrong, forgive me; I am unworthy of your angel-child, but
permit me to claim her hereafter, when my altered conduct shall manifest that I abjure
my vices, and endeavour to become in some sort worthy of her. I go to serve against the
infidels; and when my zeal for religion and my true penitence for the past shall appear
to you to cancel my crimes, permit me again to call myself your son. Thus had he
spoken; and the penitent was welcomed even as the prodigal son of scripture: the fatted
calf was killed for him; and he, still pursuing the same path, displayed such open-
hearted regret for his follies, so humble a concession of all his rights, and so ardent a
resolve to reacquire them by a life of contrition and virtue, that he quickly conquered
the kind, old man; and full pardon, and the gift of his lovely child, followed in swift
succession.
0! had an angel from Paradise whispered to me to act thus! But now, what would be the
innocent Juliet's fate? Would God permit the foul union--or, some prodigy destroying it,
link the dishonoured name of Carega with the worst of crimes? To-morrow at dawn
they were to be married: there was but one way to prevent this--to meet mine enemy,
and to enforce the ratification of our agreement. I felt that this could only be done by a
mortal struggle. I had no sword--if indeed my distorted arms could wield a soldier's
weapon--but I had a dagger, and in that lay my every hope. There was no time for
pondering or balancing nicely the question: I might die in the attempt; but besides the
burning jealousy and despair of my own heart, honour, mere humanity, demanded that I
should fall rather than not destroy the machinations of the fiend.
The guests departed-the lights began to disappear; it was evident that the inhabitants of
the villa were seeking repose. I hid myself among the trees--the garden grew desert--the
gates were closed--I wandered round and came under a window-ah! well did I know the
same!--a soft twilight glimmered in the room--the curtains were half withdrawn. It was
the temple of innocence and beauty. Its magnificence was tempered, as it were, by the
slight disarrangements occasioned by its being dwelt in, and all the objects scattered
around displayed the taste of her who hallowed it by her presence. I saw her enter with a
quick light step-I saw her approach the window-she drew back the curtain yet further,
and looked out into the night. Its breezy freshness played among her ringlets, and
wafted them from the transparent marble of her brow. She clasped her hands, she raised
her eyes to Heaven. I heard her voice. Guido! she softly murmured, Mine own Guido!
and then, as if overcome by the fullness of her own heart, she sank on her knees:--her
upraised eyes--her negligent but graceful attitude--the beaming thankfulness that lighted
up her face--oh, these are tame words! Heart of mine, thou imagest ever, though thou
canst not pourtray, the celestial beauty of that child of light and love.
I heard a step-a quick firm step along the shady avenue. Soon I saw a cavalier, richly
dressed, young and, methought, graceful to look on, advance.--I hid myself yet closer.-
The youth approached; he paused beneath the window. She arose, and again looking out
she saw him, and said--I cannot, no, at this distant time I cannot record her terms of soft
silver tenderness; to me they were spoken, but they were replied to by him.
"I will not go," he cried: "here where you have been, where your memory glides like
some Heaven-visiting ghost, I will pass the long hours till we meet, never, my Juliet,
again, day or night, to part. But do thou, my love, retire; the cold morn and fitful breeze
will make thy cheek pale, and fill with languor thy love-lighted eyes. Ah, sweetest!
could I press one kiss upon them, I could, methinks, repose."
And then he approached still nearer, and methought lie was about to clamber into her
chamber. I had hesitated, not to terrify her; now I was no longer master of myself. I
rushed forward--I threw myself on him--I tore him away--I cried, "0 loathsome and
foul-shaped wretch!"
I need not repeat epithets, all tending, as it appeared, to rail at a person I at present feel
some partiality for. A shriek rose from Juliet's lips. I neither heard nor saw--I felt only
mine enemy, whose throat I grasped, and my dagger's hilt; he struggled, but could not
escape: at length hoarsely he breathed these words: "Do!--strike home! destroy this
body--you will still live: may your life be long and merry!"
The descending dagger was arrested at the word, and he, feeling my hold relax,
extricated himself and drew his sword, while the uproar in the house, and flying of
torches from one room to the other, showed that soon we should be separated--and I--
oh! far better die: so that he did not survive, I cared not. In the midst of my frenzy there
was much calculation:--fall I might, and so that he did not survive, I cared not for the
death-blow I might deal against myself. While still, therefore, he thought I paused, and
while I saw the villanous resolve to take advantage of my hesitation, in the sudden
thrust he made at me, I threw myself on his sword, and at the same moment plunged my
dagger, with a true desperate aim, in his side. We fell together, rolling over each other,
and the tide of blood that flowed from the gaping wound of each mingled on the grass.
More I know not--I fainted.
Again I returned to life: weak almost to death, I found myself stretched upon a bed--
Juliet was kneeling beside it. Strange! my first broken request was for a mirror. I was so
wan and ghastly, that my poor girl hesitated, as she told me afterwards; but, by the
mass! I thought myself a right proper youth when I saw the dear reflection of my own
well-known features. I confess it is a weakness, but I avow it, I do entertain a
considerable affection for the countenance and limbs I behold, whenever I look at a
glass; and have more mirrors in my house, and consult them oftener than any beauty in
Venice. Before you too much condemn me, permit me to say that no one better knows
than I the value of his own body; no one, probably, except myself, ever having had it
stolen from him.
Incoherently I at first talked of the dwarf and his crimes, and reproached Juliet for her
too easy admission of his love. She thought me raving, as well she might, and yet it was
some time before I could prevail on myself to admit that the Guido whose penitence had
won her back for me was myself; and while I cursed bitterly the monstrous dwarf, and
blest the well-directed blow that had deprived him of life, I suddenly checked myself
when I heard her say-Amen! knowing that him whom she reviled was my very self. A
little reflection taught me silence-a little practice enabled me to speak of that frightful
night without any very excessive blunder. The wound I had given myself was no
mockery of one--it was long before I recovered--and as the benevolent and generous
Torella sat beside me, talking such wisdom as might win friends to repentance, and
mine own dear Juliet hovered near me, administering to my wants, and cheering me by
her smiles, the work of my bodily cure and mental reform went on together. I have
never, indeed, wholly recovered my strength my cheek is paler since--my person a little
bent. Juliet sometimes ventures to allude bitterly to the malice that caused this change,
but I kiss her on the moment, and tell her all is for the best. I am a fonder and more
faithful husband--and true is this--but for that wound, never had I called her mine.
I did not revisit the sea-shore, nor seek for the fiend's treasure; yet, while I ponder on
the past, I often think, and my confessor was not backward in favouring the idea, that it
might be a good rather than an evil spirit, sent by my guardian angel, to show me the
folly and misery of pride. So well at least did I learn this lesson, roughly taught as I was,
that I am known now by all my friends and fellow-citizens by the name of Guido il
Cortese.
The Mortal Immortal

July 16, 1833.--today is my 323rd birthday!

The Wandering Jew?--certainly not. More than 18 centuries have passed over his head.
Compared to him, I am a very young Immortal.
Am I, then, immortal? This I have asked myself day and night for 303 years; yet I
cannot answer. I found a gray hair amid my brown locks this very day. Yet it may have
remained concealed there for 300 years. Some 20-year-olds are whiteheaded.
You may judge for me. I will tell my story, and pass some few hours of a long and
wearisome eternity. To live forever! Can it be? I have heard of enchantments that
plunged the victims into deep sleep, to wake, after 100 years, fresh as ever; I have heard
of the Seven Sleepers--thus to be immortal would not be so burdensome: but, oh! the
weight of neverending time--the tedious passage of the still-succeeding hours! But to
my task.
Everyone has heard of Cornelius Agrippa. His memory is as immortal as his arts have
made me. Everyone has also heard of his scholar, who, unawares, raised the foul fiend
during his master's absence, and was destroyed. The report, true or false, of this
accident, caused the renowned philosopher many inconveniences. All his scholars and
servants deserted him. He had no one to put coals on his ever-burning fires while he
slept, or to attend to the changeful colors of his medicines while he studied. Experiment
after experiment failed.
I was then very young, very poor, and very much in love. I had been for about a year the
pupil of Cornelius, though I was absent when this accident occured. On my return, my
friends told me the dire tale, imploring me not to return to the alchemist's abode. I
required no second warning; when Cornelius came and offered me a purse of gold if I
would remain under his roof, I felt as if Satan himself tempted me. My teeth chattered;
my hair stood on end. I fled as fast as my trembling knees would permit.
My failing steps were directed whither for two years they had every evening been
attracted: a bubbling spring of pure living waters, beside which lingered a dark-haired
girl, whose beaming eyes were fixed on the path I was accustomed each night to tread. I
cannot remember a time when I did not love Bertha; we had been neighbors and
playmates from infancy. Her parents, like mine, were of humble life, yet respectable;
our attachment had been a source of pleasure to them. But a malignant fever had carried
off both her father and mother, making Bertha an orphan. She would have found a home
with us, but, unfortunately, the old lady of the near castle, rich, childless, and solitary,
adopted her. Henceforth Bertha was highly favored by fortune. But in her new situation
among new associates, Bertha remained true to the friend of her humbler days; she often
visited my father's cottage, and when forbidden to go thither, she would meet me beside
that shady fountain in the neightboring wood.
She often declared that she owed no duty to her new protectress equal in sanctity to that
which bound us. Yet I remained too poor to marry, and she grew weary of being
tormented on my account. She had a haughty, impatient spirit, and grew angry at the
obstacles preventing our union. We met now after an absence, and she had been sorely
beset while I was away; she complained bitterly, and almost reproached me for being
poor.
I replied hastily, "I am honest, if I am poor! Were I not, I might soon become rich!"
This exclamation produced a thousand questions. I feared to shock her, but she drew the
story from me. Then, with disdain, she said, "You pretend to love, yet you fear to face
the Devil for my sake!"
Thus goaded, and led on by love and hope, I returned to accept the alchemist's offer, and
was instantly installed in my office.
A year passed. My savings grew even as my fears dwindled. Despite my vigilance, I
never detected a trace of a cloven foot, nor was the studious silence of our abode ever
disturbed by demonic howls. I continued my stolen interviews with Bertha, and Hope
dawned on me--but not perfect joy, for Bertha, though true of heart, was somewhat a
coquette, and I was jealous as a Turk. She slighted me in a thousand ways, yet would
never admit she was in the wrong. She would drive me mad with anger, then force me
to beg her pardon. Sometimes, fancying I was not sufficiently submissive, she told some
story of a rival, favored by her protectress. She was surrounded by rich, cheerful, silk-
clad youths; what chance had the sad-robed scholar of Cornelius?
Once, the philosopher became engaged in some mighty work, and I was forced to
remain, day and night, feeding his furnaces and watching his chemical preparations.
Bertha waited for me in vain at the fountain. Her haughty spirit fired at this neglect; and
when at last I stole out during the few short minutes alloted me for slumber, hoping to
be consoled by her, she received me with disdain, dismissed me in scorn, and vowed
that any man should possess her hand rather than he who could not be in two places at
once for her sake. She would be revenged!--And truly she was. In my dingy retreat I
heard she had been hunting, attended by Albert Hoffer. Hoffer was favored by her
protectress, and the three passed in cavalcade before my smoky window. Methought I
heard my name--followed by a derisive laugh, as her dark eyes glanced contemptuously
toward my abode.
All the venom and misery of jealousy entered my breast. Now, I shed a torrent of tears,
to think that I should never call her mine; anon, I cursed her inconstancy. Yet, still I
must stir the fires of the alchemist, still attend the changes of his unintelligible
medicines.
Cornelius had watched for three days and nights, nor closed his eyes. The progress of
his alembics was slow. Despite his anxiety, sleep weighed on his eyelids. Again and
again he threw off drowsiness with superhuman energy; again and again it stole away
his senses. He eyed his crucibles wistfully. "Not ready yet," he murmured; "will another
night pass before the work is accomplished? Winzy, my boy, you are vigilant and
faithful--you slept last night. Look at that glass vessel. The liquid it contains has a soft
rose-color; the moment it begins to change, awaken me--till then I may close my eyes.
First, it will turn white, then emit golden flashes; but wait not till then; when the rose-
color fades, rouse me." I scarcely heard the last words, muttered, as they were, in sleep.
Even then he did not quite yield to nature. "Winzy, my boy," he again said, "touch not
the vessel--do not put it to your lips; it is a philter to--to cure love; lest you cease loving
your Bertha--beware to drink!"
And he slept. His venerable head sunk on his breast, and I scarce heard his regular
breathing--for he had reminded me of Bertha. Serpents and adders filled my heart.
False, cruel girl! Nevermore would she smile on me as that evening she smiled on
Albert. Oh, how I wished them both dead! I despised her--and loved her. Yes, it was
love that held me in hopeless, abject thrall to Bertha. Could I but regard her with
indifference--forget her and love instead someone fairer and truer--that would be
victory!
A bright flash darted before my eyes. I had forgotten the adept's medicine! I gazed on it
with wonder: flashes of admirable beauty, brighter than the gleams of a sunlit diamond,
glanced from the surface of the liquid; the most fragrant and graceful odor stole over my
sense; the vessel seemed one globe of living radiance, lovely to the eye, and irresistible
to the taste. My first instinctive thought: I must drink! I raised the vessel to my lips. "It
will cure me of love--of torture!" I had quaffed half of the most delicious liquor ever
tasted by the palate of man, when the philosopher stirred. I started--dropped the glass--
and the fluid flamed and spread along the floor, while Cornelius gripped my throat,
shrieking, "Wretch! You have destroyed my lifework!"
The philosopher was unaware I had drunk any portion of his drug. He assumed I had
raised the vessel from curiosity, and, frighted at its intense flashes, let it fall. I never
undeceived him. The medicine's fire was quenched; its fragrance dissipated; he grew
calm, as a philosopher should under the heaviest trials, and dismissed me to rest.
I cannot describe the sleep of glory and bliss which bathed my soul in paradise that
memorable night. Words would be faint echoes of the gladness that possessed my
bosom when I woke. I trod air; Earth appeared heaven, and my inheritance on it was to
be one trance of delight. "This it is to be cured of love," I thought; "I will see Bertha
today, and she will find her lover cold and regardless; too happy to be disdainful, yet
utterly indifferent to her!"
The hours danced away. The philosopher, encouraged by his near-success, began
concocting the same medicine once more. He was shut up with his books and drugs, and
I had a holiday. I dressed carefully; looking in a mirror, I thought my good looks had
wonderfully improved. I hurried beyond the precincts of the town, my soul joyous, the
beauty of heaven and earth around me. I turned toward the castle; I could look on its
lofty turrets with lightness of heart, for I was cured of love. My Bertha saw me afar off,
as I strode up the avenue. I know not what sudden impulse animated her bosom, but at
the sight, she sprang with a light fawnlike bound down the marble steps, and hastened
toward me. But the old highborn hag, her protectress--nay, her tyrant!--had seen me
also; she hobbled, panting, up the terrace; a page, as ugly as herself, held up her train,
and fanned her as she hurried along, and stopped my fair girl with a "How, now, my
bold mistress? Whither so fast? Back to your cage--hawks are abroad!"
Bertha clasped her hands, eyes still bent on my approaching figure. I saw the contest,
and abhorred the old crone who checked the kind impulses of my Bertha's softening
heart. Hitherto, respect for her rank had caused me to avoid the lady of the castle; now I
disdained such trivial considerations. Cured of love, lifted above human fears, I
hastened forward, and reached the terrace. How lovely Bertha looked--eyes flashing
fire, cheeks glowing with impatience and anger. She was a thousand times more
graceful and charming than ever. I no longer loved--Oh! no, I adored--worshipped--
idolized her!
She had that morning been given an ultimatum: should she refuse immediate marriage
with my rival, she would be cast out in disgrace and shame. Her proud spirit rose in
arms at the threat; but when she remembered the scorn she had heaped upon me, and
how, perhaps, she had thus lost her only true friend, she wept with remorse and rage. At
that moment I appeared. "O, Winzy!" she exclaimed, "take me to your mother's cottage,
away from the detested luxuries and wretchedness of this noble dwelling--take me to
poverty and happiness."
I clasped her in my arms with transport. The old lady was speechless, and broke forth
into furious invective only when we were far on the road. My mother received the fair
fugitive, escaped from a gilt cage to nature and liberty; it was a day of rejoicing, which
did not need the alchemist's celestial potion to steep me in delight.
I soon became Bertha's husband. I ceased to be the scholar of Cornelius, but continued
his friend. I always felt grateful to him for that delicious draught of divine elixir, which,
instead of curing me of love (sad cure! solitary and joyless remedy for evils which seem
blessings now), had inspired me with the courage and resolution to win an inestimable
treasure: my Bertha.
The invigorating, blissful effects of Cornelius' drink faded by degrees, yet lingered
long--and painted life in hues of splendor. Bertha often wondered at my lightness of
heart and unaccustomed gaiety; for, before, my disposition had been serious--even sad.
She loved me the better for my cheerfulness, and our days were winged with joy.
Five years afterward I was unexpectedly summoned to the bedside of the dying
Cornelius. I found him stretched enfeebled on his pallet; all of life that yet remained
animated his piercing eyes, and they were fixed on a glass vessel full of roseate liquid.
"Behold," he said, in a broken, inward voice, "the vanity of human wishes! a second
time my hopes are about to be crowned--and destroyed. Look at that liquor--five years
ago I prepared the same, with the same success. Then, as now, my thirsting lips
expected to taste the immortal elixir. You dashed it from me! and at present it is too
late."
He spoke with difficulty, and fell back on his pillow. I could not help saying,--
"How, revered master, can a cure for love restore you to life?"
A faint smile gleamed across his face as I listened earnestly to his scarcely audible
answer.
"A cure for love and for all things--the Elixir of Immortality. Ah! if now I might drink, I
should live forever!"
As he spoke, a golden flash gleamed from the fluid; a well-remembered fragrance stole
over the air; he raised himself, weak as he was--strength seemed miraculously to reenter
his frame--he stretched forth his hand--a loud explosion startled me--a ray of fire shot
up from the elixir, and the glass vessel containing it shivered to atoms! The philosopher
fell back, eyes glassy, features rigid. He was dead!
But I lived and would live forever! So said the unfortunate alchemist, and for a few days
I believed. I remembered the glorious drunkenness following my stolen draught, that
bounding elasticity of frame and bouyant lightness of soul. I surveyed myself in a
mirror, and could perceive no change in my features during the five years which had
elapsed. I remembered the radiant hues and grateful scent of that delicious beverage--
worthy of the gift it could bestow----I was, then, IMMORTAL!
I soon laughed at my credulity, however. The adage, "A prophet is least regarded in his
own country," was true of me and my defunct master. I loved him as a man and
respected him as a sage, but derided the notion that he could command the powers of
darkness, and laughed at the superstitious fears with which vulgar folk regarded him.
His science was simply human; and human science, I persuaded myself, could never
conquer nature's laws so far as to imprison the soul forever within its carnal habitation.
Cornelius had brewed a soul-refreshing drink--more inebriating than wine--sweeter and
more fragrant than any fruit; it probably possessed strong medicinal powers, imparting
gladness to the heart and vigor to the limbs; but its effects would wear off; already were
they diminished. I was lucky to have quaffed health and joyous spirits, and perhaps long
life, at my master's hands, but my good fortune ended there: longevity was far different
from immortality.
Thus, for many years, I believed I would meet the fate of all the children of Adam at my
appointed time--a little late, but still at a natural age. Yet I certainly retained a
wonderfully youthful look. I was laughed at for my vanity in consulting the mirror so
often, but I consulted it in vain--my brow was untrenched--my cheeks--my eyes--my
whole person continued as untarnished as in my 20th year.
I grew troubled. I looked at Bertha's faded beauty--I seemed more like her son. And
Bertha herself grew uneasy. She became jealous and peevish, and at length began to
question me. We had no children; we were in all to each other; and though, as she grew
older, her vivacious spirit became a little ill-tempered, and her beauty sadly diminished,
I cherished her in my heart as the mistress I had idolized, the wife I had sought and won
with perfect love.
But some obstacles love cannot overcome. Our neighbors became suspicious, calling
me the "Scholar Bewitched" and spreading rumors that I had kept up an iniquitous
acquaintance with some of my former master's supposed friends. I was regarded with
horror and detestation, while poor Bertha was pitied, but deserted. I was forced to
journey 20 miles, to some place where I was unknown, just to sell my farm's produce.
Finally we sat by our lonely fireside--the old-hearted youth and his antiquated wife.
Again Bertha insisted on knowing the truth; she recapitulated all she had ever heard
about me, and added her own observations. She entreated me to cast off the spell; she
described how much more comely gray hairs were than my chestnut locks; she
descanted on the reverence and respect due age. And could the despicable gifts of youth
and good looks outweigh disgrace, hatred, and scorn? Nay, in the end I should be burnt
as a dealer in the black art, while she might be stoned as my accomplice. At length she
insinuated that I must share my secret with her, and bestow on her like benefits to those
I myself enjoyed, or she would denounce me--then she burst into tears.
Thus beset, methought it best to tell the truth. I revealed it as tenderly as I could, and
spoke only of very long life, not immortality. When I ended, I rose and said,
"And now, my Bertha, will you denounce the lover of your youth? You will not, I
know. But you should suffer no more from my ill-luck and the accursed arts of
Cornelius. I will leave you--you have wealth enough saved away, and friends will return
in my absence. Young as I seem, and strong as I am, I can work and gain my bread
among strangers, unsuspected and unknown. I loved you in youth; God is my witness
that I would not desert you in age, but that your safety and happiness require it."
I took my cap and moved toward the door; in a moment Bertha's arms were around my
neck and her lips pressed to mine. "No, my husband, my Winzy," she said, "you shall
not go alone--take me with you. As you say, among strangers we shall be unsuspected
and safe. I am not so very old as quite to shame you, my Winzy; and I dare say the
charm will soon wear off, and, with the blessing of God, you will age as is fitting; you
shall not leave me."
Thus we prepared secretly for our emigration. We made great pecuniary sacrifices--it
could not be helped. We realized a sum sufficient, at least, to maintain us while Bertha
lived; and, without saying adieu to anyone, quitted our native country to take refuge in a
remote part of western France.
It was cruel to transport poor Bertha from her native village, and the friends of her
youth, to a new country, new language, new customs. The strange secret of my destiny
rendered this removal immaterial to me; but I compassioned her deeply, and was glad to
perceive that she found compensation for her misfortunes in a variety of little ridiculous
circumstances. She sought to decrease the apparent disparity of our ages by a thousand
feminine arts--rouge, youthful dress, and assumed juvenility of manner. I grieved
deeply when I remembered that this was my Bertha, whom I had loved so fondly--the
dark-eyed, dark-haired girl, of enchanting smile and fawnlike step--this mincing,
simpering, jealous old woman. I should have revered her gray locks and withered
cheeks; but thus!--It was my fault, I knew; but I nonetheless deplored this type of
human weakness.
Her jealousy never slept. Her chief occupation was to discover that, in spite of outward
appearances, I was growing old. The poor soul loved me truly in her heart, but she had a
tormenting way of showing it. She would discern wrinkles in my face and decrepitude
in my walk, while I bounded along in youthful vigor, the youngest looking of 20 youths.
I never dared address another woman; one time, fancying that the village belle regarded
me with favoring eyes, she brought me a gray wig. Her constant discourse among her
acquaintances was that though I looked so young, there was ruin at work within my
frame; and she affirmed that the worst symptom about me was my apparent health. My
youth was a disease, she said, and I ought always to prepare, if not for sudden and awful
death, at least to awake some morning white-headed, and bowed down with the marks
of advanced years. I let her talk--I ofted joined in her conjectures. Her warnings chimed
in with my never-ceasing speculations concerning my state, and I took an earnest,
though painful, interest in listening to all that her quick wit and excited imagination
could say on the subject.
Why dwell on these minute circumstances? We lived on for many long years. Bertha
became bedrid and paralytic: I nursed her as a mother might a child. She grew peevish,
and still harped on one string--of how long I should survive her. It has ever been a
source of consolation to me that I performed my duty scrupulously toward her. She had
been mine in youth, she was mine in age, and at last, when I heaped the sod over her
corpse, I wept because I had lost all that really bound me to humanity.
Since then how many have been my cares and woes, how few and empty my
enjoyments! I pause here in my history--I will pursue it no further. A sailor without
rudder or compass, tossed on a stormy sea--a traveler lost on a widespread heath,
without landmark or stone to guide him--such have I been: more lost, more hopeless
than either. A nearing ship, a gleam from some far cot, may save them; but I have no
beacon except the hope of death.
Death! mysterious, ill-visaged friend of weak humanity! Why alone of all mortals have
you cast me from your sheltering fold? O, for the peace of the grave! the deep silence of
the iron-bound tomb! that thought would cease to work in my brain, and my heart beat
no more with emotions varied only by new forms of sadness!
Am I immortal? I return to my first question. Is it not more probable that the alchemist's
beverage was fraught rather with longevity than eternal life? Such is my hope. And
remember that I only drank half the potion. Was not the whole necessary to complete
the charm? To have drained half the Elixir of Immortality is but to be half immortal.
But again, infinity halved is still infinity.
Sometimes I fancy age advancing on me. One gray hair I have found. Fool! do I lament?
Yes, the fear of age and death often creeps coldly into my heart, and the more I live, the
more I dread death, even while I abhor life. Such a paradox is man--born to perish--
when he wars, as I do, against the established laws of nature.
But for this fear surely I might die: the medicine of the alchemist would not be proof
against fire, sword, and the strangling waters. I have gazed into the blue depths of placid
lakes, and the tumultuous rushing of mighty rivers, and have said, peace inhabits those
waters; yet I turned away, to live yet another day. I have pondered whether suicide
would be a crime in one to whom thus only the portals of the other world could be
opened. I have done all, except becoming a soldier or duelist, an object of destruction to
my--no, not my fellow-mortals, and therefore I have shrunk away. They are not my
fellows. The inextinguishable power of life in my frame, and their ephemeral existence,
places us wide as the poles asunder. I could not raise a hand against the humblest or
most powerful among them.
Thus I have lived on for many years--alone, and weary of myself--desiring death, yet
never dying--a mortal immortal. Neither ambition nor avarice can enter my mind, and
the ardent love that gnaws at my heart, never to be returned--never to find an equal on
which to expend itself--lives there only to torment me.
Today I conceived a design by which I may end all--without self-slaughter, without
making another man a Cain--an expedition no mortal frame could ever survive, even
endued with the youth and strength that inhabits mine. Thus I shall put my immortality
to the test, and rest forever--or return, the wonder and benefactor of the human species.
Before I go, a miserable vanity has caused me to pen these pages. I would not die, and
leave no name behind. Three centuries have passed since I quaffed the fatal beverage;
another year shall not elapse before, encountering gigantic dangers--warring with the
powers of frost in their home--beset by famine, toil, and tempest--I yield this body, too
tenacious a cage for the soul which thirsts for freedom, to the destructive elements of air
and water--or, if I survive, my name shall be recorded among the most famous of the
sons of men; and, my task achieved, I shall adopt more resolute means, and, by
scattering and annihilating the atoms that compose my frame, set at liberty the life
imprisoned within, and so cruelly prevented from soaring from this dim Earth to a
sphere more congenial to its immortal essence.
The Evil Eye

The Moreot, Katusthius Ziani, travelled wearily, and in fear of its robber-inhabitants,
through the pashalik of Yannina; yet he had no cause for dread. Did he arrive, tired and
hungry, in a solitary village -- did he find himself in the uninhabited wilds suddenly
surrounded by a band of Klephts -- or in the larger towns did he shrink at finding
himself sole of his race among the savage mountaineers and despotic Turk -- as soon as
he announced himself the pobratimo of Dmitri of the Evil Eye, every hand was held out,
every voice spoke welcome.
The Albanian, Dmitri, was a native of the village of Korvo. Among the savage
mountains of the district between Yannina and Tepellen, the deep broad stream of
Argyro-Castro flows; bastioned to the west by abrupt wood-covered precipices,
shadowed to the east by elevated mountains. The highest among these is Mount
Trebucci; and in a romantic folding of that hill, distinct with minarets, crowned by a
dome rising from out a group of pyramidal cypresses, is the picturesque village of
Korvo. Sheep and goats form the apparent treasure of its inhabitants; their guns and
yataghans, their warlike habits, and, with them, the noble profession of robbery, are
sources of still greater wealth. Among a race renowned for dauntless courage and
sanguinary enterprise, Dmitri was distinguished.
It was said that in his youth, this Klepht was remarkable for a gentler disposition and
more refined taste than is usual with his countrymen. He had been a wanderer, and had
learned European arts, of which he was not a little proud. He could read and write
Greek, and a book was often stowed beside his pistols in his girdle. He had spent
several years in Scio, the most civilized of the Greek islands, and had married a Scote
girl. The Albanians are characterized as despisers of women; but Dmitri, in becoming
the husband of Helena, inlisted under a more chivalrous rule, and became the proselyte
of a better creed. Often he returned to his native hills, and fought under the banner of
the renowned Ali, and then came back to his island home. The love of the tamed
barbarian was concentrated, burning, and something beyond this -- it was a portion of
his living, beating heart -- the nobler part of himself -- the diviner mould in which his
rugged nature had been recast.
On his return from one of his Albanian expeditions, he found his home ravaged by the
Mainotes. Helena -- they pointed to her tomb, nor dared tell him how she died; his only
child, his lovely infant daughter, was stolen; his treasure-house of love and happiness
was rifled; its gold-excelling wealth changed to blank desolation. Dmitri spent three
years in endeavours to recover his lost offspring. He was exposed to a thousand dangers
-- underwent incredible hardships: he dared the wild beast in his lair, the Mainote in his
port of refuge; he attacked, and was attacked by them. He wore the badge of his daring
in a deep gash across his eyebrow and cheek. On this occasion he had died, but that
Katusthius, seeing a scuffle on shore and a man left for dead, disembarked from a
Moreot sacoleva, carried him away, tended and cured him. They exchanged vows of
friendship, and for some time the Albanian shared his brother's toils; but they were too
pacific to suit his taste, and he returned to Korvo.
Who in the mutilated savage could recognise the handsomest amongst the Arnaoots?
His habits kept pace with his change of physiognomy -- he grew ferocious and hard-
hearted -- he only smiled when engaged in dangerous enterprise; he had arrived at that
worst state of ruffian feeling, the taking delight in blood. He grew old in these
occupations; his mind became reckless, his countenance more dark; men trembled
before his glance, women and children exclaimed in terror, "The Evil Eye!" The opinion
became prevalent -- he shared it himself -- he gloried in the dread privilege; and when
his victim shivered and withered beneath the mortal influence, the fiendish laugh with
which he hailed this demonstration of his power, struck with worse dismay the failing
heart of the fascinated person. But Dmitri could command the arrows of his sight; and
his comrades respected him the more for his supernatural attribute, since they did not
fear the exercise of it on themselves.
Dmitri had just returned from an expedition beyond Prevesa. He and his comrades were
laden with spoil. They killed and roasted a goat whole for their repast; they drank dry
several wine skins; then, round the fire in the court, they abandoned themselves to the
delights of the kerchief dance, roaring out the chorus, as they dropped upon and then
rebounded from their knees, and whirled round and round with an activity all their own.
The heart of Dmitri was heavy; he refused to dance, and sat apart, at first joining in the
song with his voice and lute, till the air changed to one that reminded him of better
days; his voice died away -- his instrument dropped from his hands -- and his head sank
upon his breast.
At the sound of stranger footsteps he started up; in the form before him he surely
recognised a friend -- he was not mistaken. 'With a joyful exclamation he welcomed
Katusthius Ziani, clasping his hand, and kissing him on his cheek. The traveller was
weary, so they retired to Dmitri's own home a neatly plastered, white-washed cottage,
whose earthen floor was perfectly dry and clean, and the walls hung with arms, some
richly ornamented, and other trophies of his Klephtic triumphs. A fire was kindled by
his aged female attendant; the friends reposed on mats of white rushes, while she
prepared the pilaf and seethed flesh of kid. She placed a bright tin tray on a block of
wood before them, and heaped upon it cakes of Indian corn, goat's milk cheese, eggs,
and olives: a jar of water from their purest spring, and skin of wine, served to refresh
and cheer the thirsty traveller.
After supper, the guest spoke of the object of his visit. "I come to my Pobratimo," he
said, "to claim the performance of his vow. When I rescued you from the savage
Kakovougnis of Boularias, you pledged to me your gratitude and faith; do you disclaim
the debt?"
Dmitri's brow darkened. "My brother," he cried, "need not remind mc of what I owe.
Command my life -- in what can the mountain Klepht aid the son of the wealthy Ziani?"
"The son of Ziani is a beggar," rejoined Katusthius, "and must perish, if his brother
deny his assistance."
The Moreot then told his tale. He had been brought up as the only son of a rich
merchant of Corinth. He had often sailed as caravokeiri of his father's vessels to
Stamboul, and even to Master of a merchant ship Calabria. Some years before, he had
been boarded and taken by a Barbary corsair. His life since then had been adventurous,
he said; in truth, it had been a guilty one -- he had become a renegade -- and won regard
from his new allies, not by his superior courage, for he was cowardly, but by the frauds
that make men wealthy. In the midst of this career some superstition had influenced
him, and he had returned to his ancient religion. He escaped from Africa, wandered
through Syria, crossed to Europe, found occupation in Constantinople; and thus years
passed. At last, as he was on the point of marriage with a Fanariote beauty, he fell again
into poverty, and he returned to Corinth to see if his father's fortunes had prospered
during his long wanderings. He found that while these had improved to a wonder, they
were lost to him for ever. His father, during his protracted absence, acknowledged
another son as his; and dying a year before, had left all to him. Katusthius found this
unknown kinsman, with his wife and child, in possession of his expected inheritance.
Cyril divided with him, it is true, their parent's property; but Katusthius grasped at all,
and resolved to obtain it. He brooded over a thousand schemes of murder and revenge;
yet the blood of a brother was sacred to him; and Cyril, beloved and respected at
Corinth, could only be attacked with considerable risk. Then his child was a fresh
obstacle. As the best plan that presented itself, he hastily embarked for Butrinto, and
came to claim the advice and assistance of the Arnaoot whose life he had saved, whose
Pobratimo he was. Not thus barely, did he tell his tale, but glossed it over; so that had
Dmitri needed the incitement of justice, which was not at all a desideratum with him, he
would have been satisfied that Cyril was a base interloper, and that the whole
transaction was one of imposture and villany.
All night these men discussed a variety of projects, whose aim was, that the deceased
Ziani's wealth should pass undivided into his elder son's hands. At morning's dawn
Katusthius departed, and two days afterwards Dmitri quitted his mountain-home. His
first care had been to purchase a horse, long coveted by him on account of its beauty
and fleetness; he provided cartridges, and replenished his powder-horn. His
accoutrements were rich, his dress gay; his arms glittered in the sun. His long hair fell
straight from under the shawl twisted round his cap, even to his waist; a shaggy white
capote hung from his shoulder; his face wrinkled and puckered by exposure to the
seasons; his brow furrowed with care; his mustachios long and jet black; his scarred
face; his wild, savage eyes; his whole appearance, not deficient in barbaric grace, but
stamped chiefly with ferocity and bandit pride, inspired, and we need not wonder, the
superstitious Greek with a belief that a supernatural spirit of evil dwelt in his aspect,
blasting and destroying. Now prepared for his journey, he departed from Korvo,
crossing the woods of Acarnania, on his way to the Morea.
* * * "Wherefore does Zella tremble, and press her boy to her bosom, as if fearful of
evil?" Thus asked Cyril Ziani, returning from the city of Corinth to his own rural abode.
It was a home of beauty. The abruptly broken hills covered with olives, or brighter
plantations of orange-trees, overlooked the blue waves of the Gulf of Aegina. A myrtle
underwood spread sweet scent around, and dipped its dark shining leaves into the sea
itself. The low-roofed house was shaded by two enormous fig-trees: while vineyards
and corn-land stretched along the gentle upland to the north. When Zella saw her
husband, she smiled, though her cheek was still pale and her lips quivering -- "Now you
are near to guard us," she said, "I dismiss fear; but danger threatens our Constans, and I
shudder to remember that an Evil Eve has been upon him."
Cyril caught up his child -- By my head!" he cried, "thou speakest of an ill thing. The
Franks.call this superstition; but let us beware. His cheek is still rosy; his tresses
flowing gold -- Speak, Constans, hail thy father, my brave fellow"' It was but a short-
lived fear; no ill ensued, and they soon forgot an incident which had causelessly made
their hearts to quail. A week afterwards Cyril returned, as he was wont, from shipping a
cargo of currants, to his retreat on the coast. It was a beautiful summer evening; the
creaking water-wheel, which produced the irrigation of the land, chimed in with the last
song of the noisy cicala; the rippling waves spent themselves almost silently among the
shingles. This was his home; but where its lovely flower? Zella did not come forth to
welcome him. A domestic pointed to a chapel on a neighbouring acclivity, and there he
found her; his child (nearly three years of age) was in his nurse's arms; his wife was
praying fervently, while the tears streamed down her cheeks. Cyril demanded anxiously
the meaning of this scene; but the nurse sobbed; Zella continued to pray and weep; and
the boy, from sympathy, began to cry. This was too much for man to endure. Cyril left
the chapel; he leant against a walnut-tree: his first exclamation was a customary Greek
one -- Welcome this misfortune, so that it come single!" But what was the ill that had
occurred? Unapparent was it yet; but the spirit of evil is most fatal when unseen. He was
happy -- a lovely wife, a blooming child, a peaceful home, competence, and the
prospect of wealth; these blessings were his: yet how often does Fortune use such as her
decoys? He was a slave in an enslaved land, a mortal subject to the high destinies, and
ten thousand were the envenomed darts which might be hurled at his devoted head.
Now timid and trembling, Zella came from the chapel: her explanation did not calm his
fears. Again the Evil Eye had been on his child, and deep malignity lurked surely under
this second visitation. The same man, an Arnaoot, with glittering arms, gay attire,
mounted on a black steed, came from the neighbouring ilex grove, and, riding furiously
up to the door, suddenly checked and reined in his horse at the very threshold. The child
ran towards him: the Arnaoot bent his sinister eyes upon him: -- "Lovely art thou, bright
infant," he cried; "thy blue eyes arc beaming, thy golden tresses fair to see; but thou art
a vision fleeting as beautiful; -- look at me!" The innocent looked up, uttered a shriek,
and fell gasping on the ground. The women rushed forward to seize him; the Albanian
put spurs to his horse, and galloping swiftly across the little plain, up the wooded hill-
side, he was soon lost to sight. Zella and the nurse bore the child to the chapel, they
sprinkled him with holy water, and, as he revived, besought the Panagia with earnest
prayers to save him from the menaced ill.
Several weeks elapsed; little Constans grew in intelligence and beauty; no blight had
visited the flower of love, and its parents dismissed fear. Sometimes Cyril indulged in a
joke at the expense of the Evil Eye; but Zella thought it unlucky to laugh, and crossed
herself whenever the event was alluded to. At this time Katusthius visited their abode.
'He was on his way," he said, "to Stamboul, and he came to know whether he could
serve his brother in any of his transactions in the capital." Cyril and Zella received him
with cordial affection: they rejoiced to perceive that fraternal love was beginning to
warm his heart. He seemed full of ambition and hope: the brothers discussed his
prospects, the politics of Europe, and the intrigues of the Fanar: the petty affairs of
Corinth even were made subjects of discourse; and the probability that in a short time,
young as he was, Cyril would be named Codja-Bashee of the province. On the morrow,
Katusthius prepared to depart -- "One favour does the voluntary exile ask; will my
brother and sister accompany me some hours on my way to Napoli, whence I embark?"
Zella was unwilling to quit her home, even for a short interval; but she suffered herself
to be persuaded, and they proceeded altogether for several miles towards the capital of
the Morea. At noontide they made a repast under the shadow of a grove of oaks, and
then separated. Returning homeward, the wedded pair congratulated themselves on their
tranquil life and peaceful.happiness, contrasted with the wanderer's lonely and homeless
pleasures. These feelings increased in intensity as they drew nearer their dwelling, and
anticipated the lisped welcome of their idolized child. From an eminence they looked
upon the fertile vale which was their home:
it was situated on the southern side of the isthmus, and looked upon the Gulf of Aegina:
all was verdant, tranquil, and beautiful. They descended into the plain; there a singular
appearance attracted their attention. A plough with its yoke of oxen had been deserted
midway in the furrow; the animals had dragged it to the side of the field, and
endeavoured to repose as well as their conjunction permitted. The sun already touched
its Western bourne, and the summits of the trees were gilded by its parting beams. All
was silent; even the eternal water-wheel was still; no menials appeared at their usual
rustic labours. From the house the voice of wailing was too plainly heard. -- "My child!"
Zella exclaimed. Cyril began to reassure her; but another lament arose, and he hurried
on. She dismounted, and would have followed him, but sank on the road's side. Her
husband returned -- "Courage, my beloved," he cried; "I will not repose night or day
until Constans is restored to us -- trust to me -- farewell!" With these words he rode
swiftly on.
Her worst fears were thus confirmed; her maternal heart, late so joyous, became the
abode of despair, while the nurse's narration of the sad occurrence tended but to add
worse fear to fear.
Thus it was: the same stranger of the Evil Eye had appeared, not as before, bearing
down on them with eagle speed, but as if from a long journey; his horse lame and with
drooping head; the Arnaoot himself covered with dust, apparently scarcely able to keep
his seat. "By the life of your child," he said, "give a cup of water to one who faints with
thirst." The nurse, with Constans in her arms, got a bowl of the desired liquid, and
presented it. Ere the parched lips of the stranger touched the wave, the vessel fell from
his hands. The women started back, while he, at the same moment darting forward, tore
with strong arm the child from her embrace. Already both were gone -- with arrowy
speed they traversed the plain, while her shrieks, and cries for assistance, called together
all the domestics. They followed on the track of the ravisher, and none had yet returned.
Now, as night closed in, one by one they came back; they had nothing to relate; they
had scoured the woods, crossed the hills -- they could not even discover the route which
the Albanian had taken.
On the following day Cyril returned, jaded, haggard, miserable; he had obtained no
tidings of his son. On the morrow he again departed on his quest, nor came back for
several days. Zella passed her time wearily -- now sitting in hopeless despondency, now
climbing the near hill to see whether she could perceive the approach of her husband.
She was not allowed to remain long thus tranquil; the trembling domestics, left in guard,
warned her that the savage forms of several Arnaoots had been seen prowling about: she
herself saw a tall figure, clad in a shaggy white capote, steal round the promontory, and
on seeing her, shrink back: once at night the snorting and trampling of a horse roused
her, not from slumber, but from her sense of security. Wretched as the bereft mother
was, she felt personally almost reckless of danger; but she was not her own, she
belonged to one beyond expression dear; and duty, as well as affection for him,
enjoined self-preservation. He, Cyril, again returned: he was gloomier, sadder than
before; but there was more resolution on his brow, more energy in his motions; he had
obtained a clue, yet it might only lead him to the depths of despair.
He discovered that Katusthius had not embarked at Napoli. He had joined a band of
Arnaoots lurking about Vasilico, and had proceeded to Patras vith the Protoklepht;
thence they put off together in a monoxylon for the northern shores of the gulf of
Lepanto: nor were they alone; they bore a child with them wrapt in a heavy torpid sleep.
Poor Cyril's blood ran cold when he thought of the spells and witchcraft which had
probably been put in practice on his boy. He.would have followed close upon the
robbers, but for the report that reached him, that the remainder of the Albanians had
proceeded southward towards Corinth. He could not enter upon a long wandering search
among the pathless wilds of Epirus, leaving Zella exposed to the attacks of these
bandits. He returned to consult with her, to devise some plan of action which at once
ensured her safety, and promised success to his endeavours.
After some hesitation and discussion, it was decided that he should first conduct her to
her native home, consult with her father as to his present enterprise, and be guided by
his warlike experience before he rushed into the very focus of danger. The seizure of his
child might only be a lure, and it were not well for him, sole protector of that child and
its mother, to rush unadvisedly into the toils.
Zella, strange to say, for her blue eyes and brilliant complexion belied her birth, was the
daughter of a Mainote: yet dreaded and abhorred by the rest of the world as are the
inhabitants of Cape Tænarus, they are celebrated for their domestic virtues and the
strength of their private attachments. Zella loved her father, and the memory of her
rugged rocky home, from which she had been torn in an adverse hour. Near neighbours
of the Mainotes, dwelling in the ruder and most incult portion of Mama, are the
Kakovougnis, a dark suspicious race, of squat and stunted form, strongly contrasted
with the tranquil cast of countenance characteristic of the Mainote. The two tribes are
embroiled in perpetual quarrels; the narrow sea-girt abode which they share affords at
once a secure place of refuge from the foreign enemy, and all the facilities of internal
mountain warfare. Cyril had once, during a coasting voyage, been driven by stress of
weather into the little bay on whose shores is placed the small town of Kardamyla. The
crew at first dreaded to be captured by the pirates; but they were reassured on finding
them fully occupied by their domestic dissensions. A band of Kakovougnis were
besieging the castellated rock overlooking Kardamyla, blockading the fortress in which
the Mainote Capitano and his family had taken refuge. Two days passed thus, while
furious contrary winds detained Cyril in the bay.
On the third evening the western gale subsided, and a land breeze promised to
emancipate them from their perilous condition; when in the night, as they were about to
put off in a boat from shore, they were hailed a party of Mainotes, and one, an old man
of commanding figure, demanded a parley. He was the Capitano of Kardamyla, the
chief of the fortress, now attacked by his implacable enemies: he saw no escape -- he
must fall -- and his chief desire was to save his treasure and his family from the hands
of his enemies. Cyril consented to receive them on board:
the latter consisted of an old mother, a paramana, and a young and beautiful girl, his
daughter.
Cyril conducted them in safety to Napoli. Soon after, the Capitano's mother and
paramana returned to their native town, while, with her father's consent, fair Zella
became the wife of her preserver. The fortunes of the Mainote had prospered since then,
and he stood first in rank, the chief of a large tribe, the Capitano of Kardamyla.
Thither then the hapless parents repaired; they embarked on board a small sacoleva,
which dropt down the Gulf of Aegina, weathered the islands of Skvllo and Cerigo, and
the extreme point of Tærus: favoured by prosperous gales, they made the desired port,
and arrived at the hospitable mansion of old Camaraz. He heard their tale with
indignation; swore by his beard to dip his poniard in the best blood of Katusthius, and
insisted upon accompanying his son-in-law on his expedition to Albania. No time was
lost -- the gray-headed mariner, still full of energy, hastened every preparation. Cyril
and Zella parted; a thousand fears, a thousand hours of misery rose between the pair,
late sharers in perfect happiness. The boisterous sea and distant lands were the smallest
of the obstacles that divided them; they would not fear the worst; yet hope, a sickly
plant, faded in their hearts as they tore themselves asunder after a last embrace.
Zella returned from the fertile district of Corinth to her barren native rocks. She felt all
joy expire as she viewed from the rugged shore the lessening sails of the sacoleva. Days
and weeks passed, and still she remained in solitary and sad expectation: she never
joined in the dance, nor made one in the assemblies of her country-women, who met
together at evening-tide to sing, tell stories, and wile away the time in dance and gaiety.
She secluded herself in the most lonely part of her father's house, and gazed unceasingly
from the lattice upon the sea beneath, or wandered on the rocky beach; and when
tempest darkened the sky, and each precipitous promontory grew purple under the
shadows of the wide-winged clouds, when the roar of the surges was on the shore, and
the white crests of the waves, seen afar upon the ocean-plain, showed like flocks of
new-shorn sheep scattered along wide-extended downs, she felt neither gale nor
inclement cold, nor returned home till recalled by her attendants. In obedience to them
she sought the shelter of her abode, not to remain long; for the wild winds spoke to her,
and the stormy ocean reproached her tranquillity. Unable to control the impulse, she
would rush from her habitation on the cliff, nor remember, till she reached the shore,
that her papooshes were left midway on the mountain path, and that her forgotten veil
and disordered dress were unmeet for such a scene. Often the un-numbered hours sped
on, while this orphaned child of happiness leant on a cold dark rock; the low-browed
crags beetled over her, the surges broke at her feet, her fair limbs were stained by spray,
her tresses dishevelled by the gale. Hopelessly she wept until a sail appeared on the
horizon; and then she dried her fast flowing tears, fixing her large eves upon the nearing
hull or fading topsail. Meanwhile the storm tossed the clouds into a thousand gigantic
shapes, and the tumultuous sea grew blacker and more wild; her natural gloom was
heightened by superstitious horror; the Moirae, the old Fates of her native Grecian soil,
howled in the breezes; apparitions, which told of her child pining under the influence of
the Evil Eye, and of her husband, the prey of some Thracian witchcraft, such as still is
practised in the dread neighbourhood of Larissa, haunted her broken slumbers, and
stalked like dire shadows across her waking thoughts. Her bloom was gone, her eyes
lost their lustre, her limbs their round full beauty; her strength failed her, as she tottered
to the accustomed spot to watch -- vainly, yet for ever to watch.
What is there so fearful as the expectation of evil tidings delayed? Sometimes in the
midst of tears, or worse, amidst the convulsive gaspings of despair, we reproach
ourselves for influencing the eternal fates by our gloomy anticipations: then, if a smile
wreathe the mourner's quivering lip, it is arrested by a throb of agony. Alas! are not the
dark tresses of the young, painted gray; the full cheek of beauty, delved with sad lines
by the spirits of such hours? Misery is a more welcome visitant, when she comes in her
darkest guise, and wraps us in perpetual black, for then the heart no longer sickens with
disappointed hope.
Cyril and old Camaraz had found great difficulty in doubling the many capes of the
Morea as they made a coasting expedition from Kardamyla to the gulf of Arta, north of
Cefalonia and St.
Mauro. During their voyage they had time to arrange their plans. As a number of
Moreots travelling together might attract too much attention, they resolved to land their
comrades at different points, and travel separately into the interior of Albania: Yannina
was their first place of rendezvous. Cyril and his father-in-law disembarked in one of
the most secluded of the many creeks which diversify the winding and precipitous
shores of the gulf. Six others, chosen from the crew, would, by other routes, join them at
the capital. They did not fear for themselves; alone, but well armed, and secure in the
courage of despair, they penetrated the fastnesses of Epirus. No success cheered them:
they arrived at Yannina without having made the slightest discovery. There they were
joined by their comrades, whom they directed to remain three days in the town, and then
separately to proceed to Tepellenè, whither they immediately directed their.steps. At
the first village on their way thither, at "monastic Zitza," they obtained some
information, not to direct, but to encourage their endeavours. They sought refreshment
and hospitality in the monastery which is situated on a green eminence, crowned by a
grove of oak-trees, immediately behind the village. Perhaps there is not in the world a
more beautiful or more romantic spot, sheltered itself by clustering trees, looking out on
one wide-spread landscape of hill and dale, enriched by vineyards, dotted with frequent
flocks; while the Calamas in the depth of the vale gives life to the scene, and the far
blue mountains of Zoumerkas, Sagori, Sulli, and Acroceraunia, to the east, wrest, north,
and south, close in the various prospects. Cyril half envied the Calovers their inert
tranquillity. They received the travellers gladly, and were cordial though simple in their
manners. When questioned concerning the object of their journey, they warmly
sympathised with the father's anxiety, and eagerly told all they knew. Two wrecks
before, an Arnaoot, vell known to them as Dmitri of the Evil Eye, a famous Klepht of
Korvo, and a Moreot, arrived, bringing with them a child, a bold, spirited, beautiful boy,
who, with firmness beyond his years, claimed the protection of the Caloyers, and
accused his companions of having carried him off by force from his parents. -- "By my
head!" cried the Albanian, "a brave Palikar:
he keeps his word, brother; he swore by the Panagia, in spite of our threats of throwing
him down a precipice, food for the vulture, to accuse us to the first good men he saw: he
neither pines under the Evil Eve, nor quails beneath our menaces." Katusthius frowned
at these praises, and it became evident during their stay at the monastery, that the
Albanian and the Moreot quarrelled as to the disposal of the child. The rugged
mountaineer threw off all his sternness as he gazed upon the boy. When little Constans
slept, he hung over him, fanning away, with woman's care, the flies and gnats. When he
spoke, he answered with expressions of fondness, winning him vith gifts, teaching him,
all baby as he was, a mimicry of warlike exercises. When the boy knelt and besought
the Panagia to restore him to his parents, his infant voice quivering, and tears running
down his cheeks, the eyes of Dmitri overflowed; he cast his cloak over his face; his
heart whispered to him -- "Thus, perhaps, my child prayed. Heaven was deaf -- alas!
where is she now?" -- Encouraged by such signs of compassion, which children are
quick to perceive, Constans twined his arms round his neck, telling him that he loved
him, and that he would fight for him when a man, if he would take him back to Corinth.
At such words Dmitri would rush forth, seek Katusthius, remonstrate with him, till the
unrelenting man checked him by reminding him of his vow. Still he swore that no hair
of the child's head should be injured; while the uncle, unvisited by compunction,
meditated his destruction. The quarrels which thence arose vere frequent and violent, till
Katusthius, weary of opposition, had recourse to craft to obtain his purpose. One night
he secretly left the monastery, bearing the child with him. When Dmitri heard of his
evasion, it was a fearful thing to the good Caloyers only to look upon him; they
instinctively clutched hold of every bit of iron on which they could lay their hands, so to
avert the Evil Eye which glared with native and untamed fierceness. In their panic a
whole score of them had rushed to the iron-plated door which led out of their abode:
with the strength of a lion, Dmitri tore them away, threw back the portal, and, with the
swiftness of a torrent fed by the thawing of the snows in spring, he dashed down the
steep hill: the flight of an eagle not more rapid; the course of a wild beast not more
resolved.
Such was the clue afforded to Cyril. It were too long to follow him in his subsequent
search; he, with old Camaraz, wandered through the vale of Argyro-Castro, and climbed
Mount Trebucci to Korvo. Dmitri had returned; he had gathered together a score of
faithful comrades, and sallied forth again; various were the reports of his destination,
and the enterprise which he meditated.
One of these led our adventurers to Tepellenè, and hence back towards Yannina: and
now chance again favoured them. They rested one night in the habitation of a priest at
the little village of Mosme, about three leagues to the north of Zitza; and here they
found an Arnaoot who had been disabled by a fall from his horse; this man was to have
made one of Dmitri's band: they learned from him that the Arnaoot had tracked
Katusthius, following him close, and forcing him to take refuge in the monastery of the
Prophet Elias, which stands on an elevated peak of the mountains of Sagori, eight
leagues from Yannina. Dmitri had followed him, and demanded the child. The Caloyers
refused to give it up, and the Klepht, roused to mad indignation, was now besieging and
battering the monastery, to obtain by force this object of his newly-awakened affections.
At Yannina, Camaraz and Cyril collected their comrades, and departed to join their
unconscious ally. He, more impetuous than a mountain-stream or ocean's fiercest
waves, struck terror into the hearts of the recluses by his ceaseless and dauntless attacks.
To encourage them to further resistance, Katusthius, leaving the child behind in the
monastery, departed for the nearest town of Sagori, to entreat its Belouk-Bashee to
come to their aid. The Sagorians are a mild, amiable, social people; they are gay, frank,
clever; their bravery is universally acknowledged, even by the more uncivilized
mountaineers of Zoumerkas; yet robbery, murder, and other acts of violence, are
unknown among them. These good people were not a little indignant when they heard
that a band of Arnaoots was besieging and battering the sacred retreat of their favourite
Caloyers. They assembled in a gallant troop, and taking Katusthius with them, hastened
to drive the insolent Klephts back to their ruder fastnesses. They came too late. At
midnight, while the monks prayed fervently to be delivered from their enemies, Dmitri
and his followers tore down their iron-plated door, and entered the holy precincts. The
Protoklepht strode up to the gates of the sanctuary, and placing his hands upon it, swore
that he came to save, not to destroy. Constans saw him. With a cry of delight he
disengaged himself from the Caloyer who held him, and rushed into his arms: this was
sufficient triumph. With assurances of sincere regret for having disturbed them, the
Klepht quitted the chapel with his followers, taking his prize with him.
Katusthius returned some hours after, and so well did the traitor plead his cause with the
kind Sagorians, bewailing the fate of his little nephew among these evil men, that they
offered to follow, and, superior as their numbers were, to rescue the boy from their
destructive hands.
Katusthius, delighted with the proposition, urged their immediate departure. At dawn
they began to climb the mountain summits, already trodden by the Zoumerkians.
Delighted with repossessing his little favourite, Dmitri placed him before him on his
horse, and, followed by his comrades, made his way over the elevated mountains,
clothed with old Dodona's oaks, or, in higher summits, by dark gigantic pines. They
proceeded for some hours, and at length dismounted to repose. The spot they chose was
the depth of a dark ravine, whose gloom was increased by the broad shadows of dark
ilexes; an entangled underwood, and a sprinkling of craggy isolated rocks, made it
difficult for the horses to keep their footing. They dismounted, and sat by the little
stream. Their simple fare was spread, and Dmitri enticed the boy to eat by a thousand
caresses. Suddenly one of his men, set as a guard, brought intelligence that a troop of
Sagorians, with Katusthius as their guide, was advancing from the monastery of St.
Elias; while another man gave the alarm of the approach of six or eight well-armed
Moreots, who were advancing on the road from Yannina; in a moment every sign of
encampment had disappeared. The Arnaoots began to climb the hills, getting under
cover of the rocks, and behind the large trunks of the forest-trees, keeping concealed till
their invaders should be in the very midst of them. Soon the Moreots appeared, turning
round the defile, in a path that only allowed them to proceed two by two; they were
unaware of danger, and walked carelessly, until a shot.that whizzed over the head of
one, striking the bough of a tree, recalled them from their security.
The Greeks, accustomed to the same mode of warfare, betook themselves also to the
safeguards of the rocks, firing from behind them, striving with their adversaries which
should get to the most elevated station; jumping from crag to crag, and dropping down
and firing as quickly as they could load: one old man alone remained on the pathway.
The mariner, Camaraz, had often encountered the enemy on the deck of his caick, and
would still have rushed foremost at a boarding, but this warfare required too much
activity. Cyril called on him to shelter himself beneath a low, broad stone: the Mainote
waved his hand. "Fear not for me," he cried; "I know how to die!" -- The brave love the
brave. Dmitri saw the old man stand, unflinching, a mark for all the balls, and he started
from behind his rocky screen, calling on his men to cease. Then addressing his enemy,
he cried, "Who art thou? wherefore art thou here? If ye come in peace, proceed on your
way. Answer, and fear not!"
The old man drew himself up, saying, "I am a Mainote, and cannot fear. All Hellas
trembles before the pirates of Cape Matapan, and I am one of these! I do not come in
peace! Behold! you have in your arms the cause of our dissension! I am the grandsire of
that child -- give him to me!"
Dmitri, had he held a snake, which he felt awakening in his bosom, could not so
suddenly have changed his cheer: -- "the offspring of a Mainote!" -- he relaxed his
grasp; -- Constans would have fallen had he not clung to his neck. Meanwhile each
party had descended from their rocky station, and were grouped together in the pathway
below. Dmitri tore the child from his neck; he felt as if he could, with savage delight,
dash him down the precipice -- when, as he paused and trembled from excess of
passion, Katusthius, and the foremost Sagorians, came down upon them.
"Stand!" cried the infuriated Arnaoot. "Behold Katusthius! behold, friend, whom I,
driven by the resistless fates, madly and wickedly forswore! I now perform thy wish --
the Mainote child dies! the son of the accursed race shall be the victim of my just
revenge!"
Cyril, in a transport of fear, rushed up the rock; he levelled his musket, but he feared to
sacrifice his child. The old Mainote, less timid and more desperate, took a steady aim;
Dmitri saw the act, and hurled the dagger, already raised against the child, at him -- it
entered his side -- while Constans, feeling his late protector's grasp relax, sprung from it
into his father's arms.
Camaraz had fallen, yet his wound was slight. He saw the Arnaoots and Sagorians close
round him; he saw his own followers made prisoners. Dmitri and Katusthius had both
thrown themselves upon Cyril, struggling to repossess themselves of the screaming boy.
The Mainote raised himself -- he was feeble of limb, but his heart was strong; he threw
himself before the father and child; he caught the upraised arm of Dmitri. "On me," he
cried, "fall all thy vengeance! I of the evil race! for the child, he is innocent of such
parentage! Maina cannot boast him for a son!"
"Man of lies!" commenced the infuriated Arnaoot, "this falsehood shall not stead thee!"
"Nay, by the souls of those you have loved, listen!" continued Camaraz. "and if I make
not good my words, may I and my children die! The boy's father is a Corinthian, his
mother, a Sciote girl!"
"Scio!" the very word made the blood recede to Dmitri's heart. "Villain!" he cried,
dashing aside Katusthius's arm, which was raised against poor Constans, 'I guard this
child -- dare not to injure him! Speak, old man, and fear not, so that thou speakest the
truth."
"Fifteen years ago," said Camaraz, "I hovered with my caick, in search of prey, on the
coast of Scio. A cottage stood on the borders of a chestnut wood, it was the habitation of
the widow of a wealthy islander -- she dwelt in it with her only daughter, married to an
Albanian, then absent; -- the good woman was reported to have a concealed treasure in
her house -- the girl herself would.be rich spoil -- it was an adventure worth the risk. We
ran our vessel up a shady creek, and, on the going down of the moon, landed; stealing
under the covert of night towards the lonely abode of these women." -- Dmitri grasped
at his dagger's hilt -- it was no longer there; he half drew a pistol from his girdle -- little
Constans, again confiding in his former friend, stretched out his infant hands and clung
to his arm; the Klepht looked on him, half yielded to his desire to embrace him, half
feared to be deceived; so he turned away, throwing his capote over his face, veiling his
anguish, controlling his emotions, till all should be told. Camaraz continued:
"It became a worse tragedy than I had contemplated. The girl had a child -- she feared
for its life, and struggled with the men like a tigress defending her young. I was in
another room seeking for the hidden store, when a piercing shriek rent the air -- I never
knew what compassion was before -- this cry went to my heart -- but it was too late, the
poor girl had sunk to the ground, the life-tide oozing from her bosom. I know not why,
but I turned woman in my regret for the slain beauty. I meant to have carried her and her
child on board, to see if aught could be done to save her, but she died ere we left the
shore. I thought she would like her island rave best, and truly feared that she might turn
vampire to haunt me, did I carry her away; so we left her corse for the priests to bury,
and carried off the child, then about two years old. She could say few words except her
own name, that was Zella, and she is the mother of this boy!"
* * * A succession of arrivals in the bay of Kardamyla had kept poor Zella watching for
many nights. Her attendant had, in despair of ever seeing her sleep again, drugged with
opium the few eates she persuaded her to eat, but the poor woman did not calculate on
the power of mind over body, of love over every enemy, physical or moral, arrayed
against it. Zella lay on her couch, her spirit somewhat subdued, but her heart alive, her
eves unclosed. In the night, led by some unexplained impulse, she crawled to her lattice,
and saw a little sacoleva enter the bay; it ran in swiftly, under favour of the wind, and
was lost to her sight under a jutting crag. Lightly she trod the marble floor of her
chamber; she drew a large shawl close round her; she descended the rocky pathway, and
reached, with swift steps, the beach -- still the vessel was invisible, and she was half
inclined to think that it was the offspring of her excited imagination -- yet she lingered.
She felt a sickness at her very heart whenever she attempted to move, and her eyelids
weighed down in spite of herself. The desire of sleep at last became irresistible; she lay
down on the shingles, reposed her head on the cold, hard pillow, folded her shawl still
closer, and gave herself up to forgetfulness.
So profoundly did she slumber under the influence of the opiate, that for many hours
she was insensible of any change in her situation. By degrees only she awoke, by
degrees only became aware of the objects around her; the breeze felt fresh and free -- so
was it ever on the wave-beaten coast; the waters rippled near, their dash had been in her
ears as she yielded to repose; but this was not her stony couch, that canopy, not the dark
overhanging cliff. Suddenly she lifted up her head -- she was on the deck of a small
vessel, which was skimming swiftly over the ocean-waves -- a cloak of sables pillowed
her head; the shores of Cape Matapan were to her left, and they steered right towards
the noonday sun. Wonder rather than fear possessed her: with a quick hand she drew
aside the sail that veiled her from the crew -- the dreaded Albanian was sitting close at
her side, her Constans cradled in his arms -- she uttered a cry -- Cyril turned at the
sound, and in a moment she was folded in his embrace.